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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437976">I'm Down Here Low, Fussing Over Scars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bare1yThere/pseuds/Bare1yThere'>Bare1yThere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(for once), Basira's here too but she has a very minor role, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, So i'd feel bad tagging her</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:20:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437976</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bare1yThere/pseuds/Bare1yThere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon nodded, “We should be safe for now, though. I can’t See anything immediately around us.”</p>
<p>Basira furrowed her eyebrows, but said nothing, half turning so that she wouldn’t have to face them completely.</p>
<p>“Who knew we could still get injured,” Martin half-joked, wincing slightly as he pulled back his hand to see it glistening with a thin coat of blood. </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Or after MAG176 the gang stops to treat Martin's injuries</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>126</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'm Down Here Low, Fussing Over Scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">It was Martin who had insisted they stop to rest. He had been trailing behind Jon and Basira for a while, the two walking side-by-side in silent tension. Jon was never keen to stop moving forwards, well aware of the fact that they neither needed to nor could really rest after The Change. Basira had a determined fire in her eyes and purpose in her every step that made it clear she wasn’t too interested in stopping either. She only agreed to set up a temporary camp when she saw Martin still pressing one hand to his throat, droplets of blood dripping from beneath his hand onto the soft forest floor.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Jesus, Martin are you okay?” Jon had asked him, reaching towards him tentatively with a look of concern and genuine surprise on his face.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin shook his head slightly, grimacing as the breeze made the cut sting with fresh pain. “I thought you knew about it?” he asked, motioning to the injury.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“I-I was trying not to Look,” Jon admitted, “I’m sorry. We should really bandage that up."</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon and Martin set down their bags quickly and silently with practiced familiarity. Basira, on the other hand, was travelling light. The only things she carried on her were a knife holstered on one hip, a firearm on the other, and a long, sharped piece of rebar strapped to her back. When Jon and Martin sat down, she stayed standing, giving them an impatient look.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Make it quick. We can’t stay in one place for too long,” She said.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon nodded, before adding, “We should be safe for now, though. I can’t See anything immediately around us.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Basira furrowed her eyebrows, but said nothing, half turning so that she wouldn’t have to face them completely.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Who knew we could still get injured,” Martin half-joked, wincing slightly as he pulled back his hand to see it glistening with a thin coat of blood. It was as if he’d dipped his hand in red paint to make a handprint on some sort of messy post-apocalyptic art project. His head and stomach swirled slightly at the sight, so he began to take deep breaths to steady himself.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“I… I suppose it could depend on the domain?” Jon pointed out, looking closely at the injury. Back in the trenches, Martin had fallen badly and split his knee open on a particularly jagged piece of shrapnel. Jon had helped him up then, leading him through the chaos as he limped desperately to safety. The pain had been excruciating, and only made worse by his movement. Once inside, though, it was as if the injury had never been there at all. Martin might have thought he’d imagined it if it weren’t for the fact that there was still a large tear in his jeans where the injury once was.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“This place wants to slow you down. Whatever injuries you get here, they stick,” Basira added, still not looking at either of them.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon nodded in agreement, zipping open his backpack and rummaging around for a moment. Martin picked idly at a loose string near the hole in his pants, acutely aware of the cut on his neck throbbing sharply in time with his heart. Briefly, he wondered if this is what avatars of the hunt felt; A beating pain within them, but deep in their very being as opposed to being concentrated to a single wound. A pain that could only be drowned out with the pounding thrill of a chase. He pushed the train of thought down. If that’s what Daisy was feeling now… well, he didn’t want to think about it.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Eventually, Jon found what he was looking for: one of the plastic bottles of water they had brought with them to make tea, a roll of gauze bandage wraps, and two small unused hand towels. Jon pressed one part of the cloth against the wound, humming to himself.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“It’s been bleeding this long because you kept moving your neck. Try to keep still.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin felt a quick rush of indignation at that and huffed, “I was trying to make sure we weren’t still being followed, and it’s not like either of you stopped or gave me the chance to let you know what was going on!”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Basira looked back at them now, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in surprise at Martin’s retort.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon just sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I should’ve been paying more attention to how you were doing after everything that’d happened.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin sighed too. “No, don’t apologize, I should have let you know earlier. I thought it might’ve just… gone away if I didn’t think about it.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon let out a soft laugh. “That would have been entirely possible, all things considered.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Gently, Jon removed the cloth from Martin’s neck. It was fairly soaked through with blood, the white fabric stained a deep red. The cut’s bleeding had slowed significantly though. He set the hand towel aside, pouring some of the bottled water on the second cloth. He began to dab at the injury, one hand on Martin’s thigh to steady himself. Martin found the touch reassuring despite the new sting the lukewarm water brought. Occasionally he let out a quiet hiss of pain, and Jon would mutter soft apologies as a response. Eventually, Jon’s focus began to waver slightly. Not in a way that made his movements sloppy, but it was clear there was something on his mind.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Martin, are…” Jon trailed off, hesitating, and Martin could tell that he was about to bring up something he felt awkward about. “Are you alright? I… I know what happened back there was probably a lot.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin could still remember with clarity the feeling of something rushing into him and knocking the breath out him. He remembered the powerful arm of the vampire hunter pulling him down by the collar of his heavy wool sweater, forcing him to stoop slightly, and cold, sharp metal digging into his throat. When he swallowed, the knife would momentarily dig deeper into his skin, causing a new, horrible pang of fiery pain. His limbs had grown numb as terror rushed through him and the only thing his mind could focus on was the ever-present pain of the knife against his throat and the erratic pace of his own breathing.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">And then, suddenly, it was over. The desperate, snarling Trevor Herbert had been shot dead right in front of him. Immediately, the sharp pressure of the blade on his throat had vanished, replaced by the uniquely horrible sensation of warm blood and viscera spattering against his entire upper body. He hardly had a moment to feel sick by the gore dripping from him before Basira had approached, her gun trained on him.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin let out a small, strained laugh, his throat tightening with the sudden threat of tears. Only now after thinking about it did he realize how horrible it all had been. He guessed he hadn’t responded for a while, as Jon’s look of concern had only grown deeper. He clenched his hands into fists as the breeze caused the slash across his throat to sting again, only made worse by the water.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“I was… I was so <em>scared</em>, Jon. I-I was trying not to be, to be calm like you said,” the tears came free flowing now, making a line in the dried blood the was spattered across his face, “but I was convinced that I was going to die, and I-I was gonna die hardly knowing what the hell was going on.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon placed aside the wet cloth. He set both hands in front of Martin’s, palms up, as an invitation. Martin eagerly took them in his own, Jon rubbing one thumb in reassuring circles on the back of his hand. “This should never have happened,” he said, “I really thought he would have gone after me instead.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin choked out a bitter laugh. “You do realize that’s not much better, right? Having to watch you in danger and- and be unable to do anything? I don’t think I would’ve been able to do it.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon said nothing, avoiding Martin’s eyes. Martin could feel his hands trembling within Jon’s, and something began to bubble up within him. Was it anger? fear? frustration? He wasn’t sure, but it only made his eyes burn and tears fall faster. After a moment of tense silence, Jon opened his mouth to speak, but Martin cut him off.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“I wish you would just tell me what’s going on!” he snapped, probably a bit too loudly considering the domain they were in. A little ways away, Basira shifted uncomfortably, hand moving towards one of the weapons on her waist. She side-eyed them warily.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“If you had just told me what was happening, what you were doing, what the plan at all was, maybe I would have been a bit more prepared to be threatened with a-a-a fucking <em>knife</em>! But, no, instead I had to pull any ounce of basic information from you like teeth. I know in these situations I’m not particularly useful—”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“That’s not true!” Jon interjected.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Then <em>why</em> do you keep leaving me in the dark about everything?! I just want to know what might be trying to <em>actually</em> <em>kill us </em>so I can be better prepared to, I don’t know, <em>not die!</em>”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon was silent for a moment. Martin hadn’t let go of Jon’s hands, but was instead gripping them tightly in his anger. “I’m sorry, Martin. I just— you told me you didn’t want to listen to the statements and I wanted to respect that boundary. It’s not because I think you’re useless, far from it, actually. I just hate having to watch you go through all of this-” he motioned to everything around him, “-because of what <em>I </em>did. It’s not fair to you. I don’t want the knowledge of what the domains are like, what the world is like, to hurt you.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin sighed, “Well, that lack of knowledge <em>did</em> hurt me, Jon. And again, this isn’t your fault.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Please, let’s not do that right now.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin huffed in frustration, but let it drop. “Thank you for respecting my boundaries with the statements, really, but there <em>is</em> a difference to hearing you sound <em>possessed</em> and describe in great detail the very specific and personal horrors of the people trapped here and letting me know we’re being followed by a hunter or that the next domain has to do with, I don’t know, spider people or something, y’know?</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Besides, you don’t have to protect me from how the world is, Jon. I can see it regardless of how little or how much you tell me about it. In fact, I think it would be a little less distressing if I knew a little more about the domains we travel through than having to put it together as we go.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon nodded, one hand moving up to his arm. “You’re right. I haven’t been as open with you as I should’ve been, and that only made what happened with Trevor worse for you. I’ll…” he paused, as if uncertain about what he was about to say, “I’ll try to tell you more about the domains we go through, and in general, about what’s going on. As long as you tell me if it’s ever too much or if I ever go into too much detail for you.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Thank you.” After a beat of silence, Martin added, voice light with regained amusement, “And yes, don’t worry, I’ll let you know when you’re getting too ominous.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">At that, Jon laughed quietly. It was a sound Martin treasured the rare times he heard it. “I love you, Jon,” he said, pressing a kiss into his cheek.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He could feel Jon smile as he said “I love you too, Martin.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“So you two finally sorted that out then?” Basira called suddenly from where she was now leaning against the trunk of a tree.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“S-sorted what out?” Martin asked, startled out of the intimate moment.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Your relationship?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin stammered out a range of sounds that roughly translated to “You knew about my crush?!” before Jon squeezed his hand and let out a soft laugh. “Yes, yes we did.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Good for you,” Basira said, sounding surprisingly genuine. Jon looked back at Martin, fondness sparkling briefly in his eyes before being replaced by amused frustration.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Uh… Martin, your throat’s bleeding again.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Oh shit—” impulsively one hand shot up to touch the area below the wound. Sure enough, it was wet with blood, the collar of his sweater beginning to stain red.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Here, let me just…” Jon pressed the cloth against it again. Martin laughed sheepishly.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Sorry, I must’ve been moving my neck around.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“It’s no issue.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Basira began to pace slightly as Jon finished patching up the injury. It didn’t take nearly as long to stop the bleeding this time. After cleaning it with water again, Jon unspooled the gauze wrap and gently began to wind it around his neck.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Let me know if this is too tight.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin hummed in response, feeling comforted by the weight of Jon’s hand on his shoulder. After a few moments of winding, Jon tore free the bandage away from the roll and tucked it into itself.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“And, finished. How does it feel?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Better,” Martin said truthfully, reaching up to touch the wrap. The pain wasn’t completely gone, but it had dulled significantly.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Basira stopped in her tracks. “Cool. Can we go?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin rubbed the back of his neck, “Actually, could I have one more minute? I’m still covered in Trevor’s… You know.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Blood?” She supplied bluntly.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Yes. His blood.” He responded flatly.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Basira sighed, not bothering to hide her impatience. “Fine, whatever. Just hurry it up. We’ve been here long enough as is.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p3">- - -</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Well these are ruined,” Martin said, folding his bloodstained sweater and hoodie and tucking them into his bag.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“To be fair its quite surprising they made it this long unscathed,” Jon pointed out.</p>
<p class="p1">“True, true,” Martin sighed, pulling his backpack up onto his shoulders. He had put on a spare black cable knit sweater that he had thankfully thought to pack and cleaned his face and hands from Trevor’s gore. It was hard to pick the dried blood from his hair and he doubted Basira would let them stop for much longer to properly rinse and dry his hair out, so he had decided to let that be. Besides, they didn’t have that much water to begin with and he still had quite a bit of tea left. If his hair had to be a little bloody for the sake of more tea, so be it. “That sweater was really nice, though. I’m going to miss it.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Well I think you look just as lovely in this one.” Jon said, smiling at him warmly.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Martin felt his face begin to heat up, heart fluttering. It had been a few months now (probably, time’s been weird) since they had gotten together and Martin was still getting used to Jon’s casual compliments. “Th-thank you,” he managed, looking away shyly.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“You two can keep flirting like high schoolers if you want, but we really need to get going,” Basira said, staring at them with a frustrated and mildly stressed expression on her face. She probably hadn’t stopped moving for any length of time in a while, Martin realized, and their short reprieve had likely felt very strange and wasteful. He thought about this for a moment before what she had said clicked in his mind.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“High schoolers?!” he squawked, making Jon laugh quietly. Both began to move forwards despite this, Basira leading the way.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">For a while they travelled in silence. Martin had tried to talk with Basira a few times, but her clipped responses quickly faded into ignoring him entirely. He guessed she must’ve felt significantly less happy to see them — especially Jon — than he had been to see her. He sighed. So much for the grand reunion he’d imagined. Though what kind of reunion was he expecting, really? Thanks to Peter, they’d hardly interacted back when they both actively worked at the institute. What had he been thinking? He guessed it was for the best, in the end. They probably shouldn’t be having loud conversations while making their way through the Hunt’s domain.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He let his eyes wander the dark forest around them for a while, but the eerie sensation of being watched by something hidden within its density began to set him on edge. Instead, he directed his attention on Jon. He was walking right next to him this time, lost in thought, eyes focused on the horizon. Martin’s eyes drifted towards the pale crescent-shaped scar that crossed his throat. How had he reacted, when he’d learnt what had happened to him over a year ago now? More fretting, more tea, and a frantic insistence that he be more careful? Martin frowned at the thought. That scar was now just one of many that dotted Jon’s skin like constellations. He raised a hand to his own throat, the pain now a dull, hardly noticeable throb. Was this just the beginning for him? His own branding at the hands of the Fears?</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Suddenly, Jon turned to look at him. Realization dawned on his face and Martin rushed to stammer out, “I’m sorry I- I didn’t mean to stare, or anything—”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon shook his head, “It’s fine, Martin. I… hm,” he paused, looking forwards again, “I guess we’re matching now, aren’t we?” He let out a short, somewhat bitter laugh at his own joke. To Martin’s surprise, he actually found it a bit uplifting.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Y-Yeah, I guess we are,” he smiled to himself, pushing his thoughts about the fears away for the moment. “Though, I think if I had the choice, I might have preferred matching post-apocalyptic T-shirts or mugs or something. Even keychains, maybe?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“What kind of T-shirts?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Oh I don’t know, ‘I survived the Hunt’s domain and all I got was this lousy T-shirt’?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Hmm… I think your mug idea from earlier had more of a ring to it, in my opinion.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Heh, yeah, maybe.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jon extended a hand towards him, smiling invitingly. Martin took it, relishing the warmth of his hand in his. Basira said nothing about their brief exchange. Too focused on the task ahead of them, Martin thought. He steeled himself, squeezing Jon’s hand and setting his sights to the horizon. Jon squeezed his hand back reassuringly. The path in front of them was widening into a clearing, what appeared to be sunlight finally breaching the canopy up ahead. Basira stopped, pulling the rebar from her back.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Well, here we go.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't write often but this most recent episode had so so much to it that I immediately felt inspired to write something. Let me know what you think!! </p>
<p>The title is from the song Infinitesimal by Mother Mother! Thanks for reading! :D</p></blockquote></div></div>
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